


Poquito's Promise

by ExploretheEcccentricities



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon)
Genre: "Damage" in the general sense but not really, And Andrew, Because Andrew wasn't exactly his captor, But there are unhealthy behaviors, Child Abuse, Gen, Impressionable Varian, It's not exactly Stockholm syndrome, It's prison, Lies, Lots of bad language, OOC Andrew?, OOC Varian, PTSD, Reference to Under Raps-Poquito, Stockholm syndrome-ish?, Strong and unhealthy attachments, Subconscious manipulation, Sympathetic but toxic Andrew, Toxic Relationship, Violence!, abusive situations, cursing, prison flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28613994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExploretheEcccentricities/pseuds/ExploretheEcccentricities
Summary: "I often ask myself: who saved whom?"A "short" speculation of Andrew's and Varian's relationship.
Relationships: Andrew | Hubert & Varian (Disney: Tangled)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 39





	Poquito's Promise

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry I've been off Ao3 lately! Life has been quite testing...I'm slowly easing back into writing regularly now that the worst parts are over and just trying to come back into doing what I love. Now that I'm trying to post regularly, I'll hopefully be getting back to my main storyline (Or So They Thought) and other stories I promised and have drafts for. 
> 
> I can't promise a consistent update schedule but please know I am trying my best :). Coming down from grief and depression really...stumps your writer's block.
> 
> This one isn't my best-it may be sloppy, and rushed. But I'm happy I'm coming back to writing and hopefully I'll jump back into my original style within no time. :)
> 
> For reference, Poquito Juan Pablo is the blind orphan mountain sheep Andrew claimed to rescue from a pack of ravenous wolves (in Under Raps). Andrew additionally says that he shorn the sheep's wool, and that whilst he gave it a home, "he gave me warmth." This also lead to the idea that this could have been foreshadowing his relationship with Varian...
> 
> The blind orphan mountain sheep being Varian (bc he was an orphan and his 'follower' (so sheep in the vague sense) and supposedly "blinded" by despair/the need to redeem himself/escape prison so he followed Andrew). The wolves being Coronans in Andrew's and even Varian's eyes, especially since Rapunzel is shown to be friendly with wolves, so Andrew making himself out to be a savior of Varian by providing him a way to screw Corona/escape Coronan injustice. And of course, Andrew's line of "I gave him a home, he gave me warmth"-regarding the sheeps' wool, but in a broader sense, that he provided Varian a "group of friends"/home/purpose or cause that was "new Saporia" and the Separatists, and Varian gave him "warmth" by giving him a literal explosive/heated substance (Quirineon). Just...food for thought.
> 
> The premise of this story is that Varian has grown an immense attachment to Andrew during prison that gets in the way of his 'recovery' from prison time and his re-integration into normal life. Quirin comes to Andrew for help-and to let Varian have some solace. Varian has been troubled for weeks, to the point that he's desperate to see that Andrew is okay after what happened.

Andrew had been having a fine night. Well, fine as it could be, living in the darkest, lowest level of the dungeons with nothing to eat but exactly one (1) bowl of prison gruel a day, the finest served with small cups filled to the brim with hot (sometimes dusty) water.

And the relative silence of the cell, save for the chatter of some of his former cellmates, who had been allocated across from and away from him to avoid any opportunities for possible "planning".

Well, that, and the fact that the little brat that had betrayed him in the first place had just been escorted down here by his esteemed, murderous looking "dad". Said brat blinked back at him through the bars, sorrowful and hopeful eyes filled to the brim with tears, pale face flushed in pink and patches of red.

Varian's father-Andrew couldn't remember the man's name though he's sure Varian must have mentioned it more than once- glares back at the Saporian with the scorn and scorch of a thousand suns, ever-foreboding and threatening as he stands behind his son with his hands positioned on the boy's shoulders, though said boy does not exactly look like he's welcoming the affection-in fact, if Andrew didn't know any better, he'd even say Varian was subconsciously trying to lean out of the man's grip. The man's eyes look down to check on the boy hesitantly, softening in disappointment and question when he sees the boy still observing Andrew. "See, Varian? He's okay. He's not dead. Can we go back now?”

"Yeah, I'm not dead yet." Andrew manages to chuckle out emptily, pretending to seem unfazed and umiffed as he leans back nonchalantly and kicks his heels up to sit properly on his uncomfortable stone bed, only slightly confused and unsettled by how the boy's quiet eyes dutifully and attentively followed him whever he went or however he moved. "Huzzah, your hero complex can live another day. Now uh...go back to hell." He offers a shit-eating grin in Quirin's direction, hoping Varian would look equally angry or even get the message…

Well, the boy certainly gets a message. What message that happened to be...well... 

Varian leans forward, fingers clasping around the bars as his wide eyes look to make sure Andrew is paying attention. "Hubert...Hubert, are you okay? Are you mad at me?"

"No, Varian, I'm very happy with how you stabbed your only real family and friends in the back to run away for those alternative losers. Can't you see I'm livin' the dream? Why can't you just be happy for me?" Andrew scoffs sarcastically, looking at the boy with disbelief...though there wasn't much to disbelieve about it. This wasn't too far off to how Varian had begin to act after about a few months into living with him...Andrew had just expected that coming out and going back home/to the palace would mean Varian would snap back to his "stronger", energetic, self-assured...angrier self.

Apparently he did not.

Varian blinks in shock and hurt, before his eyes well up with a fresh wave of tears. Andrew squirms in his spot in discomfort, while Quirin's eyes narrow in instant alarm and anger.

"Shut up, you-" Quirin begins, but Varian has already clasped his hands to his face, sobbing into his hands.

"Oh...he _is_ angry at me! I hurt him!" Andrew manages to catch Varian sniffling and weeping through his muffled fit. "Please don't be mad, Hubert! I had to do it! You broke your promise and I didn't want to hurt people and you knew that so you know why I had to do it! Please don't be mad!"

Quirin's grip on the boy's shoulders tightens, and Andrew catches Varian flinch at the touch. The father's lips tighten, his eyes narrowed as he looks back at Andrew sharply, the cogs in his head turning as he coldly regards the terrorist that had manipulated his son and taken advantage of him at his weakest.

"You didn't hurt anyone, son. You did the right thing. You did far more than what was expected of you-" At Quirin's glare towards the terrorist, Andrew's brows raises, but the father continues, trying in vain to steer his son away, hush him, rub his back soothingly. "-and you got less than what you deserved."

"Yeah, get over yourself and don't give yourself that much credit, Varian." Andrew agrees tonelessly, chipping away at the shiv he had tried (and failed) to make.

The father's face falls when he sees Varian still weeping, unwilling to be steered away, and kneels at the boy's level, trying to brush away his tears and pull him into a hug. Varian pulls away the instant he tries-flinching and turning back to grasp at the bars. "I want-I want to be with _Hubert_.”

"You very well do not and cannot." Quirin curtly replies, straining to keep his voice as gentle as possible despite the alarm and indignity pulsating brightly behind his concerned, widened eyes. "You wanted to see him. You saw his head is attached to his shoulders. You're done. We're done. We're leaving." He gets up then, gently taking ahold of Varian's shoulders again and lightly pushing him away.

That only makes Varian weep harder, digging his heels into the ground as he resists and clawing at his father's hands. "No...no...don't make me go back. I don't wanna go back up there. Please. Just for today?"

"Varian, no." Quirin's voice raises, still cautious and growing desperate as he tries to ignore his son's resistance and pull him by the arm instead. "You can visit tomorrow. You can visit every day if you like! But you can't...stay here for longer than you've already had." Eyes pleading now, he tries making Varian face him, despite the boy closing his eyes and shaking his head. "Please, son. I won't let you stay here. It's not healthy.”

Varian sniffles, pressing his hands against his eyes as he stifles and shakes with more sobs. "You say that but you don't mean it." He insists to Quirin. "You're not gonna let me come back. You're gonna pretend like it's never happened. You always do."

Andrew awkwardly fidgets in the corner, not knowing what to do or say. On one hand, it was actually distressing that there did seem to be something wrong with Varian...something worse than the follower/pseudo-attachment mentality he may or may not have instilled into the kid after months of pushing him around emotionally. On the other...he was mildly amused upon seeing Quirin have a difficult time. From what Varian had told him of his father, Andrew didn't exactly like thinking of the man as a saint or martyr...more like another mindless vassal pandering to Corona's line of incompetent rulers, enabling their abuse behind the backs of people who trusted and actually needed them. Most people like that got what they deserved-be it difficult children who couldn't remain under their holier-than-thou thumbs or proper death via the kings they loved getting favors from and doing favors for. What made Varian's father any different?

"Varian-"

"I want to go s-stay with Hubert." Andrew raises his head, slightly miffed that Varian was still using his real name-a name only he and a few close friends had been allowed to use back in their prison days. Well, back when they shared prison days. "He doesn't pretend. He doesn't-"

"Oh? He doesn't?" Quirin refutes, now looking riled up as his eyes narrow in challenge and he holds his son's shoulders firmly, ignoring how the boy squirms to get away. "So he didn't pretend to care until he tried to kill you? He didn't pretend to go along with your agreement of not hurting people until he could readily jump to it without thinking twice? He didn't pretend to be your friend only to hurt you and leave you on your own when convenient?”

Varian's lip trembles. "N-no, but he wasn't pretending when he protected me, and tried helping me when I was stuck in here with him. He wasn't pretending when-"

"I am trying to help you now, Varian!" Quirin exclaims, voice escalating slightly into a harsh and sharp reprimand that shuts the boy up out of sheer fear and disheartenment, unable to strain with caution. "We all are! We're trying to help you get out of your darkest days and yet you insist on running back to them, on staying in them by still insisting on hurting and endangering yourself with the likes of...him!" He spits out venomously and points vehemently in Andrew's direction.

The terrorist quietly observes, noting both of their actions. When he notices both of their eyes watching him in turn, he shrugs, nodding in agreement in Quirin and speaking to Varian. "Yeah. You're pretty fucked up, buddy." Andrew admits without care, and while Quirin's face looks red in the dim glow, Varian's eyes fix on Andrew, absorbing what he said and seeming a bit downcast or even..ashamed...before they light up hopefully.

“Buddy?"

Something changes when Quirin registers Varian giving Andrew that attention after that particular phrase. The father's face darkens, his jaw clenching and his eyes flitting in simulatenous disbelief and hopelessness, followed by...utter sadness? He pushes Varian behind him, standing between him, the bars and Andrew, and jabs a shaking finger in Andrew's direction. "You. Don't you dare call my son that. Don't talk to him that way, don't try coaxing him like he's your friend or old 'pal'-and don't you dare even look at him." Andrew merely raises an eyebrow, crossing his arm and glaring back wordlessly at the father. What was Varian's father going to do, anyways? Who did he think he was fooling-trying to assert unnecessary and unneeded control over others who had done what he could never do?

The father then sharply turns to Varian, and the boy flinches at the familiar...or possibly unfamiliar...anger, frustration and impatience in his "dad"'s eyes. "You. We're going home, now. You've gotten your way-now it's time to take some of you medicine, and your 30 minutes of therapy before bed-"

"But I don't want-"

"Varian, we can't trust what you want. You don't know what you want." Quirin grinds out, pleading for his son to understand. Varian freezes at that, eyes unfathomable as they quietly examine the man as though trying to gauge if he was serious, adamant emotion fading and masked with something else...something disappointed and even more depressed than earlier.

"...Trust? You don't...trust me?" Varian asks quietly, repeating the world as though it had caught in his breath and stuck to his tongue.

Quirin pauses in alarm, suddenly slightly conscious of the many ways this one moment could go wrong. "...I think you just need time away, to see that you don't need this man and that you've moved on and the more you cling to him, the less chances there are that you'll actually...get better." Quirin explains, and Varian's face softens.

"But...you don't trust me."

"It's not a matter of how much I trust you. It's that I don't trust him-no one trusts him, and you very well cannot trust him either, after what he did to you. He doesn't need your affections, your trust, and he certainly doesn't deserve your clinging to him.”

Varian nods, then looking quietly at the ground. "And...you think _you_ do?"

Quirin blinks at him in sudden shock, startled. Andrew takes the opportunity to whistle in 'supportive' mocking jeer, instantly shutting up when he realized it wasn't igniting the reaction he had hoped.

Quirin towers over the boy expectantly, as though waiting for him to elaborate, but Varian doesn't, shuffling his feet and avoiding eye contact.

"Are you going to explain that?" Quirin eggs irritatedly. "Because I can just tell you that you ought not to cling to anyone, and that you can depend on us-your real friends and family-to help you in your time of need. Seeing as we haven't tried killing you before."

Varian shrugs sheepishly, keeping his head down. "Well...you've all had your fair share of hurting me before...so there's not much else to say, is there?"

There is a stunned, deafening silence, one in which Andrew huffs impatiently and leans back yet again, thinking up all the things Quirin can say in his defense. However, the man does nothing of the sort.

"...I've had enough of this. We're leaving." Quirin then says, seizing Varian's arm. The boy jolts, one hand flying to carefully grab at his father's in response.

"Dad...please don't do that." Varian begins quietly, tugging at the hand.

"You're not staying with Andrew...or Hubert...or whatever the hell that psycopath's name is." Quirin tries to assert, trying to practically drag Varian along as the boy whimpers. Andrew's eyes narrow in suspicion and disgust-sure, he did not extensively, actively care about Varian after all that had transpired...but he would be lying if he didn't feel the slightest bit of sympathy and even admiration, for the shit he went through.

"O-okay, but can you just let-"

"Look, I know that you did not have the best past-with both me and your friends. And I am not asking you to cling to us, or shower us with unconditional trust and affection. But that should not mean that your only alternative is _that man,_ who has tried to kill you more than once!" At seeing Varian falter in his steps and struggle in distress at his grasp, Quirin loosens the grip and kneels at the boy's level again, firmly grabbing his shoulders and nearly shaking him, looking at him with pleading despair. "What are we doing wrong, Varian? What's so wrong with us, with me, that you would rather visit your old terrorist friend again?"

Varian, thoroughly distressed and confused now, shakes his head, searching for the right words. "I-no, I don't...know. N-nothing's wrong with you...I didn't mean it that way...I'm...I'm sorry...Gosh, I'm sorry I keep making everyone feel like that, Dad! You're right!" He sniffles, breaking out into fresh tears again, much to both Andrew's and Quirin's alarm. "I d-don't know how I feel or what I want!"

Quirin stands, the first slivers of remorse flickering in his face as he backtracks and tries to ease the distress he had brought out from his son, evident hurt and increasing concern flaring in his cautious eyes when the boy still flinches or stiffens at his attempts to comfort. He tries hugging the boy. "Now there...don't you cry like that. Oh, Varian-“

Andrew clears his throat at the man's futile attempts, leaning forward against the bars, though neither father nor son turn to pay him significant attention. "If I may...sometimes the best way to make a kid stop crying is to not imply that there's something heavily wrong with only them? And...you know...maybe not force them to admit something just because it's feels personally better for yourself to hear?"

Quirin frowns in concern when Varian turns away from him, sitll shaking and weeping uncontrollably. "I'm so sorry." Varian mumbles between breaths and sobs. "I don't know what's wrong with me...a-and I don't know why but you're not making things any better...you and my new friends aren't very good at making things better.... just as I'm not..."

"Damn, buddy." Andrew calls. "How much have they been making you smoke?"

Quirin scowls irratably now, turning to yell at Andrew to shut up-only to see Varian let a watery chuckle and small, wavering smile escape in response. The man freezes, terror at the gravitous reality of the situation beginning to etch its way as he registers Varian's words along with his response to Andrew's "joke". Upon seeing his father's reaction, Varian's face falls, and he instantly tries to stifle his smile.

Quirin sighs. "What am I going to do with you, Varian?" He asks quietly, and Varian's eyes fix on him, disheartened and glistening as they look down in shame and self-loathing, sheepish and insecure at his father's disapproval and unyielding judgmental demanour as he wraps himself into a self-hug and hunches his shoulders.

Andrew makes a small noise of contempt, waving his hand in an unthinking and weak defense for Varian without knowing why. "Relax, _he_ didn't do any of that. I made him stand two feet away so he could pretend to be interested in things that didn't fuck up his mind forever. Like...conquering kingdoms. And nice shit that cool kids his age love. What, do I look like the kind of person who would share my joints? With someone who named his raccoon 'Ruddiger' no less?"

Quirin frowns deeply still, grabbing a numb Varian's arm as he begins to lead the boy away. "Speaking of, Ruddiger must be waiting for you back home, isn't he? We should go and make sure he's alright."

"Dad...it's not just being away from Hubert." Varian says, the tear-stains still fresh and glistneing on his cheeks. "I also...I don't want..." He looks quietly at the man's feet, biting his lip. "I don't want to be with you...or Rapunzel...or Eugene...because you remind me of too much. Because you make me sad.”

Had Varian still been in prison with him, Andrew would have encouraged him, cheered him on.

Quirin's eyes narrow. "Back to this again?" He presses exasperatedly, once again grabbing Varian's arm as though he had expected the boy to start trashing and resisting immediately. "How is it that we make you feel upset or worse when he doesn't?"

Varian wipes at his eyes, trying to with-hold tears and sort through his words. "B-because he didn't pretend to help but leave me alone when he had to! Because...there was a time when he did care...I think...and I wanted to believe that he did because I didn't have you, or Rapunzel, or Eugene or anyone else to be there for me...with me." Varian articulates. "I thought...I used to think that...Hubert was someone I could trust with keeping me safe.... It was hard for me to give up all those privileges after living with n-near nothing. Hubert...was my friend...and it's hard for him to not be my friend in my eyes even if he might not deserve it."

Quirin's upper lip curls in contempt. "Don't be stupid." He hisses, before he and Varian stop short in stunned silence and in shock of whathad just been uttered.

Varian's tears return, and he presses his fingers against his lips, curled up into a tight, shaking knuckle so as to prevent himself form sobbing aloud. "I want to go to Hubert." He whispers yet again, much to the father's chagrin despite the recent wound of disappointment and rejection. Despite his attempts at control, the tears spill over the brim of his eyes and easily cascade his cheeks.

Andrew watches quietly, raising his brow curiously and with a bit of contempt himself.

Quirin's face softens with instant and intense remorse, the man moving forward to hug the boy properly. Yet again, the boy's arms remain limp to his sides. "No...no, you want to come home. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I said that. But you want to come back home with me. You want to come back to friends and family who love you very much, and who only want what's best for you and-"

"I want friends and family that don't think I'm stupid." Varian quietly admits, voice fractured by sobs, admittedly and visibly disheartened.

Quirin hovers over Varian's form for a second, unsure of what to do and terrified of making the wrong call. His quiet eyes watch his weeping son with distress-it seemed that Varian had been holding up like this for quite a while, and the emotional instability on top of the new environment and unresolved issues regarding his past had left him even more depleted and directionless than before.

The father pauses, before his hands leave the boy's shoulder, gently cupping the boy's face and stroking away at his hair so that he could see him clearly. "Sh-no. Okay. Okay, do you want to be with...with Hubert so badly?" At that, Varian pauses before nodding vigorously, not bothering to look up at his father through his tears. Quirin hesitates, before coming to quietly talk to the guards positioned at the corners of Andrew's cell.

The Saporian's eyes narrow in suspicion and growing irritation when Quirin glares at him yet again, before the eye contact is broken with the sharp, jarring sound of keys jostling in their lock, and the creak of the old prison door opening in the slightest. Andrew jolts up in shock, but doesn't have the time to make a move or register what's going on before Quirin moves in with Varian, the guards positioned directly outside the door supervising intently, and Andrew's plans to spend a quiet evening to himself getting figuratively thrown out the window...though if Quirin's glances meant anything, that could be literal as well.

The father holds on closely to the boy inside the cell, though the boy looks visibly less tense, seeing the familiar surroundings of his old cell and his old cellmate. "Listen here... _Hubert_." Quirin attempts to threaten, voice laced with challenge and dripping with distaste, quickly holding Varian back before the boy instinctively moved towards Andrew. " _Do not hurt my son_. Do not even try to pull him into your plans or sweet-talk him into doing your bidding. This will not happen regularly. After this one moment, you will never see Varian again." The man's anxious grip on Varian tightens, though the boy seems zoned out, still looking around the familiar cell. The boy squints at the man's worried face when Quirin gently lifts his chin in his direction. "The same goes for you, Varian. Is that alright? If I let you be with... _Hubert_ , while I'm here in this cell with you,just this once, you're not going to complain or harp about seeing him again. Okay?"

Varian looks uneasy, confused, even a bit distrustful as he looks up at his dad, trying to gauge what exactly the man was trying to do and why. After examining him enough, however, the boy nods, and just as Quirin lets go of his shoulders, Varian runs for Andrew, nearly catapulting himself against the man and wrapping his small arms around his waist, back turned away from how his father's face fell with heavy sorrow, guilt and disappointment upon watching him scurry back so readily to his former abuser.

Andrew huffs, nearly having the wind knocked out of him as the familiar yet unfamiliar weight hits him square in the gut. He instinctively wraps his arms around the boy's back and head in return, the scene feeling oddly familiar to the few times he had been tasked with comforting the boy after a nightmare or a panic attack or a flashback or just generally....almost any breakdown Varian had ever had in the short year they had spent together. Damn...he hadn't thought it had been that much...and that it had meant that much to Varian, who had better things and better people to care about now.

It is then the man notices the faint yet familiar trembling in Varian's shoulders, the small quiver and gasps of his breaths between tears, the telltale way he brought up his fingers to bite them or rub at his own arms for some form of stimulation. Feeling a twinge of sympathy and begrudging concession, Andrew rubs at the boy's back, feeling a bit awkward and out of place after having not done this for a while, and the irritation he felt from Quirin's intensive, unwavering stare didn't help any. He quietly wonders, from the small signs of reliefyet pain in the father's face, how long Varian had been suffering like this...and what had been done to help him, so far. After all, none of the prison conditions gave "help" when needed.

"They don't let me use say ‘fuck’ here." Varian weeps into Andrew's vest.

"I know." Andrew answers automatically, empathetically stroking along the boy's hair and ruffling it, vaguely remembering that used to calm the boy somewhat. He notices Quirin's eyes narrow in suspicion and alarm, but the father says nothing else, just quietly watching.

"I'm so alone there." Varian splutters. "They act like it never happened."

"I know."

Eventually, after a round of talking-to, leaping from here to there for conversation until Varian had vented and gotten everything off his chest, Andrew ends up having sat Varian down next to him on the prison bed of rock. The boy leans his head against Varian's shoulder, closing his exhausted eyes and quietly weeping away the rest of his tears into the man's shirt, pausing or stopping only when the man wrapped a careful arm around his back and tried adjusting him to make him more comfortable. Varian is quite possibly half-asleep, practically leaning over him and clinging to him for dear life still when Andrew looks over to the worried father, the earlier anger and irritation having dissipated away gradually as he shrewdly observes the man's attempts to seem outwardly composed while noticing the way he sometimes fidgets, sometimes tenses upon seeing his son still half-awake or weeping. "You know, some of us are trying to put a kid to sleep." Andrew begins, though not with his usual snark and sharp edge. "You could always...I don't know....help?"

Quirin blinks, as though just now snapping out of his hyper-vigilante stupor when he has ascertained that his son is peacefully asleep. "I don't think I can ever be of help, actually." Quirin replies, his voice distant and numb. "I think...I'm doomed to fail my son like this constantly, repeatedly. I only ruin him more than he's already been. One day...he's going to grow up and leave me behind...and all he'll think about me is how little I seemed to think of him.”

Andrew frowns at the small monologue, carefully trying to shift Varian's weight so that his head lay comfortably in his lap and the man could move a bit more. The boy...had gained some weight since leaving. They had probably been making Varian eat more...or Varian himself had developed food anxiety. Plus the medicines he had been taking, most likely.

Varian was no longer a bag of bones and some flesh.

"I actually think...for an idiot vassal who serves an idiot king and tried raising an idiot son...you're not doing too bad in terms of amends yourself." Andrew remarks slowly, despite Quirin's frown. The man thinks to himself. "And...no one here is doomed. Don't give yourself so much credit. You didn't ruin Varian-no one really ruins anyone. You played a part in his ruin..but not so much more than how Varian played a part in our conquest and demise of Corona. Well, okay, perhaps a lot more, because you're the kid's parent and all so...fuck you, I guess" At Quirin's winces, Andrew's eyes narrow.

"Why do you do that?" Andrew asks.

Quirin scowls in confusion. "Do...what, exactly?"

Andrew gestures to Quirin. "That thing where you...you pretend to be disgusted, ir disappointed, or...pained. Whenever you're reminded that Varian even had a past outside of you."

Quirin frowns, raising his hands in self-defense. "It's not pretend. To be fair, it is painful for any parent to know the pains their child went through...and the things they've done...and I'm not disgusted-"

Andrew scowls impatiently, waving his hand. "Yeah, I get that. But no, that's not what's happening here."

Quirin's eyes narrow in challenge. "Excuse me?”

"Forgive me for my manners and the fact that I...don't actually have any-" Andrew continues to ramble, uncaring if he sounded blatant or insincere. "But I've been across enough in these prisons to know shit when I see it."

Quirin's fists clench as tightly as his jaw, but Andrew isn't intimidated-the man couldn't and wouldn't hurt him, not if his son was sleeping in his lap for what seemed to be the first proper time he'd slept peacefully in ages. "You're accusing me of lying. You?" Quirin sneers in contempt and question. "Happening to have spent less than one year sharing this...cell with Varian does not suddenly make you an expert on what he needs and what I or the others are lacking."

"Not lying. But...that is why you're here, right now, at this exact moment, right?" Andrew approaches the idea carefully, still seated. "To see what I must be doing right that you're not? To see where you or your son's new supposed friends are falling short? To see if this could actually be what your boy needed to stop bawling nonstop and actually feel heard?”

Quirin steeples his fingers together, deep in thought as he fights to keep the arrant remorse off his face. "...I just wanted him to be able to sleep peacefully, for once." He quietly admits, his quiet eyes running over his son's quiet, still face with fondness and…sorrow.

Andrew narrows his eyes, looking back and forth between father and son before sighing. "You know...for someone who really does seem to care...and trust me, you don't come across that often....I'm surprised you haven't figured this out yet."

Quirin perks up. "Figured...what out?"

"The pattern." Andrew replies matter-of-factly. "Why Varian ends up getting worse every time. Why he keeps jumping from one cycle of pain to another. Why he trusts so easily. Why he's used so easily. Just a few minutes with Varian taught me that.”

Quirin's brows knit together. "I'm afraid...I need you to elaborate."

Andrew rolls his eyes. "From what I've seen from orphanages and some prisons including Corona's own, kids need attention. Basic attention- from when they're younger- and additional attention, to show them that you do actually care and aren't some asshole renting off their talents for personal favor and image." Quirin's eyes narrow at Andrew's insinuation, but the terrorist continues, holding out his hands as though explaining this how Varian would. "Attention, more particularly additional attention, isn't just there to make the kid feel safe-it's there so they have an annoying little sticker their parents stick at the back of their heads deluding them into this manipulative idea that what they do somehow affects their parents emotionally-as if in recompense for the good attention and time they take up, the kid has to learn to please their parents and measure that success with the additional attention they get. It's a points-based system, like nearly everything in the world. Including your senseless Coronan hierarchy." Quirin rolls his eyes, but Andrew gives an empty smile. "And like most things in the world, it's ugly and pointless, but points are how we get by. Points are how we know we're amounting something...and therefore amounting to something. "

"So...you're saying I'm being manipulative for...caring about my son?" Quirin tries to understand.

Andrew then slaps his knee, barking out shrill, emptier laughter that abruptly startles the man. They look to Varian, who is still asleep. Andrew dismisses it. "He'll sleep through anything, he's learned." Rolling up his sleeve and wiping his eyes, Andrew points and props his elbow against his knee. "But no. You, sir, did something even uglier. You barely gave the kid any attention, in the years that he needed them." Andrew snaps his fingers, evidently proud of himself. "And it's so glaringly obvious from the first few moments you meet him.”

At Quirin's expression, Andrew presses. "You know...if you don't give your kid, or friend, or pet, or whatever other asshole leeches off your time, patience and resources in the name of responsibility...if you don't give them that minimum requirement of attention or whatever they need to be decent, stable beings, they'll look for it elsewhere, lest they starve." As Quirin's face slackens with the dawning realization, Andrew shrugs. "It's what happens with Varian all the time. He was almost endlessly denied any kind of approval, discipline, or attention from you...so he latched onto the first people who gave him any modicum of good attention-which happened to be the princess and her band of ignorant syncophants, at the time.”

"Attention." Quirin repeats in near disbelief.

"Yes, attention! And it's not so petty, or immature, or childish, as you may think! At a point in their lives, kids...or whoever...use that as an indicator for a lot of things! Like...an insight into the kinds of people their parents are and what they think of or expect from them! You know? And if you only want obedience or acceptance but without putting in the groundwork for communication and connections, you end up losing their interest, their trust, and ultimately their...companionship Like a crime boss who has you convinced that it's better you gained experience than an actual share in the spoils of your last theft." Andrew mutters a curse under his breath. "Nobody wants that.”

Andrew narrows his eyes, staring into space as he tries to track back his train of thought and tapping along Varian's shoulder blades as the boy slept peacefully unperturbed. Quirin narrows his eyes as well, but for a different reason. "Why is...how is Varian not at all-"

"I told you, he's used to it. Watch." Andrew shrugs, before a small smile stretches his lips and he liftsVarian's limp head, pretending to move his mouth as though a puppet. “ _He's right, Dad._ " Andrew mimics Varian's higher-pitched voice exaggeratedly, chuckling fondly to himself when Varian doesn't seem to awaken at all, dropping limp back into his lap effortlessly and painlessly.

Quirin sets his jaw straight, the dim trickles of moonlight from between the thick black bars of the window framing his pale, square face. "You're not as funny as you think you are."

Andrew scowls, unappreciative of this particular recompense for his few moments of 'wisdom'. "Isn't that _your_ job, as the court jester and all?"

Quirin blinks, vaguely offended. "I'm...I'm a vassal."

Andrew waves his hand, snorting. "Potato tomato."

"It's potato-"

" _No_." Andrew holds up his hand, sneering. “See, I've reached my limit with stupid comments for today. You know what I don't get? Why you don't just take your kid and get out. He's asleep. He's fine. Just...take him up like this-" He makes an attempt to lift the limp boy off his lap, just as Quirin quickly comes forward, as though expecting him to drop the kid- “And-”

Varian jolts awake as soon as he senses Andrew's arm withdrawing, sniffling and protesting quietly as he begins weeping again, pressing against his father's shoulders as though trying to get away with him.

Quirin stiffens, instinctively trying to hold the boy close and soothe him somewhat, patting his hand along his back slowly in an attempt to seem calm even as the boy squirmed and tried reaching for Andrew in his immensely distressed yet half-awake state.

Andrew freezes, looking quietly at Quirin's desperate attempts before his eyes follow Varian's distressed form. In a fluid, swift, almost natural motion, he leans down and presses his palm against the boy's forehead, causing him to still as the boy tries grabbing blindly at his hands in the dim light of the prison. Andrew pushes his hand back gently so that the bangs bunch up underneath his fingers and away from Varian's eyes, watching them flit back and forth in fright and confusion before calmly whispering. "Sh, no, junge. I'm here. I just need to take a break. Do you think you can stay here and let me take a break? I'm going to be right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Quirin holds his breath, watching Varian blink at the man and quietly take in his words.

The boy then looks quietly at the opposing bed across from Andrew's-what used to be his own bed back when he was in prison."Do you want to go to your own bed?" The man quietly asks, and the boy slowly, sluggishly nods, not looking around to see or recognize his father watching him.

Andrew quietly helps the boy up, holding up his hand when Quirin tries to lend a hand, and Varian leans against the man's shoulder for support in the darkness until he fumbles for the familiar bed and slides in, mumbling incoherently under his breath as Andrew pats him on the head a few times before cautiously moving away.

The Saporian then calmly sits back down on his own bed, watching Quirin sit by Varian's and hover his hand yearningly over the boy's back before reluctantly, disappointedly settling it besides the boy, braced against the stone.

Quirin sighs, shoulders sinking with the hope and thought in his face. "This...this is the first time since his release that he's properly let me be with him as he sleeps and...slept well." Quirin admits quietly. "And he doesn't even know I'm here."

Andrew breathes irritatedly, harsh enough through his teeth to elicit a whistle, digging his back against the wall. "Do you ever stop talking about yourself?" He asks without thinking (which happened a lot nowadays...he found there was no longer a proper filter between his head and mouth because his time in prison left him isolated for so long he often forgot he needed one).

Quirin looks at him, but much of his surprise, rather than showing anger or annoyance, the man blinks thoughtfully. "Tell me more. About that.”

Andrew looks at him then, actual surprise on his face as he looks between the sleeping boy and the father. He fights to keep the curiosity from his face-he didn't want sympathy from this man, despite all the things Varian had told about him way back in the day. "Old man...I agreed to let the kid rest. Well, technically, I didn't even agree to that much. You just barged in here like some kind of asshole and insisted on wasting my time in the hopes it would make up for yours as a parent." Andrew sniffs in distaste, itching at his arm. "I did not agree to free parenting advice or therapy."

Quirin looks at him with a raised eyebrow...before reaching into his pocket.

Andrew's eyes narrow, instantly riled up. "I'm a prisoner, you dolt. And a proud Saporian. I don't want your filthy Coronan currency.”

"Who said anything about money?" Quirin asks calmly, before pulling something else out.

Andrew's eyes roll when he sees what it is, the tension dying with disinterest. "Varian, you _idiot_."He mumbles under his breath, though he knows very well that the boy isn't listening.

In Quirin's hand was a hairtie-Andrew's hairtie- and a small black marker.

"I saw him trying it on. Well...both of them on. In a way. When he thought I wasn't looking." Quirin says, a small and fond smile stretching his lips as he recalls the memory. His brows knit into a questioning, concerned look when Andrew uncomfortably looks away. "Do you want to tell me the story behind that?"

"Do I _look_ like an emotionally stable and trustworthyperson that you can divulge any and all info about your clearly fucked up son from?" Andrew asks, voice devoid of anger as he tries to slip his mask back on.

"...Well, you don't not look like someone I can ask this of. Varian thinks very highly of you, after all." Quirin retorts calmly, as though knowing he was about to get his way.

"You're not getting your way." Andrew instantly replies in a half-hearted defense, not caring if he acted like he could read other's thoughts as easily as he could understand his own. "And Varian would think highly of a raccoon if you held it up to his face, pretended like it could talk and had it say 'I'm so proud of you, son!' No-" He holds up a hand just as Quirin frowns. "Don't ask me how I know that. You're not gonna find what you're looking for. You're going to live with this mistake you've made...you're all going to live with your mistakes and nothing I say can change anything about it. It was stupid. He was stupid. All of your Coronans are the same. Stupid, backstabbing, naive assh-"

"Which is why you never got along with Varian, right?" Quirin cuts off for the first time, a knowing and triumphant smile appearing at Andrew's shock at his uncharacteristically snarky response.

The man quickly recovers, sinking back against the wall, seeing as he wasn't about to get out of this soon. He thinks back to the memory, unwilling to divulge it just yet…

_"Three." Varian argues, scrunching his nose in disaste and holding it as he carefully pokes the spoonful of broth into his mouth, hands trembling slightly._

_"No, two." Andrew retorts insistently, tearing at the stale bread and watching it plop uneventfully into the bowl. "Animals don't count."_

_"You said you respected animals." Varian begrudgingly presses, giving up and quietly pushing his bowl away as he tucks his knees against his chest._

_"I said Coronans ought not to domesticate horses and exploit them for grueling labor. And you're not one to talk" Andrew corrects, before mockingly turning to the familiar guard positioned outside their cell. "Hey! Are you sure this is the kid who turned his raccoon into a mutant monster and kidnapped the queen?”_

_The guard frowns at them, not saying anything. Varian frowns too, but for a different reason. He quietly folds his hands onto himself, tapping his fingers self-consciously. "I really wish you would stop bringing that up. I told Ruddiger I was sorry."_

_"And how did he respond to that?" Andrew remarks, trying (and failing) to stir the broth._

_Varian's face falls further, and Andrew feels a twinge of sympathy. "Hey now. I'm sure he won't be gone for long. Maybe he was doing you a favor...he knew how less food you would get and didn't want you to starve by trying to share it with him."_

_Varian's face lightens up at that...before falling yet again. "But..it's been days. Ruddiger and I have never been apart for that long." He presses his forehead against his knees. "Did...did I ruin it? Did I ruin us?”_

_Andrew's eyes narrow, and he presses his lips together as he thinks before putting his spoon down carefully. "Hey...don't give yourself so much credit. The only thing you've ruined is **your** life." Andrew comments easily, and Varian frowns, not seeing where he was going with this. The boy had been tearing himself up at that all day and every night -it had taken months for him to finally numb himself to the fact and be able to take it in the stride of casual conversation."But that's just how it works. You can't ruin people or...friends. You ruin things. Things that belong to you. You don't own people or their lives. You thus can't ruin people or their lives. "_

_"So...I ruined my friendship." Varian says, voice small and weak as he looks at his unfinished bowl of broth._

_Andrew pauses, noticing Varian shaking still and starting to breathe unevenly before sighing. "Buddy, eat your food. You're bad enough as it is-not eating for another night will make you worse."_

_Varian buries his forehead against his knees, breath escaping and shoulders quaking, and Andrew straightens in alarm, casting a quick glance at the guards positioned outside. "Come now, kid. Not now. Later but not now. You know you can’t-"_

_Too late. The first sob escapes Varian's mouth, dry and heavy and loud, splintering the thin air and stumbling in the wake of a stream of others. Heartbroken, depleted, exhausted sobs, forced out of the boy's dry throat and wilted heart, meant for deafened ears and darkened halls._

_Andrew quickly tries to scramble forward, quickly grabbing Varian's knee and trying to pat at it, rub it, speak to him quietly yet urgently. "Kid, I mean this in the most non-threatening way possible....but please shut up." Andrew begs, but his efforts are futile. The other familiar guard positioned across from them, checking through the perimeter, sharply looks at them, eyes narrowing with impatience and scorn at Varian's sobbing figure._

_"What now?" The guard snaps, striding forward quickly, face tight with growing anger as a few of the others watch him, half amused and half anticipating. "Is there another problem here?"_

_Andrew glares up at him, firmly clasping Varian's shoulder so hard it could have been painful. "No. Nothing."_

_The boy almost stills, sobs quickly faltering but still evident and stifled as he keeps his face hidden, his entire being tensing as though he had just realized who had come._

_The guard scowls, looking down at the bowl. He rolls his eyes. "What, is he complaining about being hungry? When he's barely touched his food?" He kneels down at Varian's level, raising his voice even as the boy flinches and curls onto himself further. "This is a prison, not a morgue. The king needs you alive so you could live out the rest of your sentence fairly and gratefully, like the wretch you are. Although, I wouldn't expect you to know anything about fairness or gratitude...should I, boy?”_

_Varian's grip on his arms tightens, and he refuses to look up. Andrew keeps his hand positioned quietly on the kid's shoulder-for a reason he could never really pinpoint, really._

_The guard's eyes narrow, and he scowls in contempt and challenge. "Too good for food down here, are you? Think whining and complaining now about how you deserved better is going to help you ? Make you look noble, and smart, and even strong...after all the shit you've caused and done? Did your precious Daddy stand for that too?"_

_Varian flinches, and another unwilling sob escapes his mouth. Andrew scowls at the guard, snapping, feeling a strange and indignant defense broil in his throat. "Are you done? It's a lot easier to eat when we don't lose our appetite seeing your faces, you know.”_

_The man frowns, maintaining eye contact...and then he kicks sharply at Varian's bowl, eliciting a loud and sharp crash as it shattered upon impact at the stone wall. The boy jolts at the sudden sound, hands flying to brace himself and then staring wide-eyed at the wasted meal pooling on the ground_

_Andrew shouts in protest. "The hell was that for? He missed yesterday's meal too!”_

_"Well, it's a shame his dear **dad** isn't around to get him more, isn't it?" The guard mocks, and a few other guards chortle behind him, while some others look away in dismay or even discomfort. "His precious dad can't get him more supplies for any ruinous inventions, more excuses to be a nuisance, more lies to buy him time. And it's all **his** fault" The guard jabs a finger at Varian, calmly looking down at him as the boy stares back owlishly, aghast. " **He** wasted that meal. That's all on him. He's a growing boy...he can learn his actions have consequences. Did you hear that, boy?" The guard enunciates, leaning forward even as Varian's face tightens and his being tenses, haw clenching and pale, pasty cheeks flaring with pink._

_"Your dad is dead-" The guard speaks clearly- "so you don't get to die so easily. You're gonna make up for being the child who killed his only parent by keeping yourself alive long enough to serve this sentence honorably...well, with as much honor as offspring like you can ever bring to a man like that." He scoffs, leaning forward when Varian tries to turn away, unwilling to let the boy escape his torment. "You're gonna have to live, but it's not gonna be easy. You don't deserve-"_

**_THWACK!_ ** _The guard cries out, jolts as Varian's fist connects with his jaw, having swung out unexpectedly and unevenly in a blind and unguided rage._

_The boy scrambles up, eyes narrowed with tears and breath heaving and face red, as Andrew stares in bewilderment._

_The guard collects himself relatively quickly, licking his lips and pressing his fingers against his mouth, narrowing his eyes dangerously when he sees the blood stains._

_"You fucking brat." He hisses under his breath, before stepping forth and swinging his own fist, much more pointedly and powerfully than the boy, careful to avoid unhinging his jaw but strong enough to send the boy flying, screaming out in shock and pain as he hits the wall near his cracked bowl._

_Andrew jolts to his feet, yelling out in defense as he tries to make it to Varian when he realizes what's happening and that the guard still towered over the slumped, hyperventilating boy, whose eyes now widened in petrification and remorse. "Hey! That's enough! Leave him alone-don't-!"_

_Before the man could reach for the guard and deliver his own 'just desserts', Andrew suddenly finds himself falling on his front, held down by a weight, body flaring with a sudden and sharp pain. He looks to see another guard having tackled him to the ground, trying to hold him down. Riled up, Andrew shouts and tries turning, kicking and and punching whenever he can while trying to lift himself as he sees another two guards make their way over...either to watch the fun or stop it, he didn't know._

_Meanwhile, the guard looms over the boy, who is still shocked and terrified speechless. "So Daddy dearest never taught you how to say sorry, eh?" He hisses in contempt, and Varian trembles opening his mouth-before the guard's hands come and wrap around his throat, locking securely around it and briefly, painfully cut off his air supply, leaving him scrambling and gasping as the guard tries to lift him up by that alone_

_"Get up!" The man hisses when Varian struggles and tries to gasp, splutter for breath in between horrified and guilty sobs. The man leans forward, split flying as he yells at the blue-faced boy. "Get up, you pathetic excuse of a child- you disgusting waste of space!"_

_The man sharply knees the boy in the side of the legs, and Varian splutters, finally managing to stand and gasping in relief, gulping for breath as the man's hands ease away from his throat before crying out when the man's fist punches him squarely in the face, slamming the back of his head against the wall he was pinned against with the impact._

_Varian whimpers and shudders, licking his lips as the blood from his mishapen nose trickles over his face...but he isn't given time to recover or faint before the man steadies him back and delivers another punch, this time in the eye, one hand forecefully keeping him up by the shoulders so that he didn't slump down or fall. Varian sobs again in agony, this time beginning to apologize profusely and plead for mercy-only for another punch to be delivered to his jaw. With each punch to the face, Varian's head rocks and tilts limply in an almost imbalance with his neck, his cries beginning to die in his throat as he begins to lose consciousness, held up only by the guard's other arm and the fact that his head was being repeatedly banged against the wall behind him._

_Beyond the guard in front of him, Varian can see Andrew holding (badly) in a fight against two of the other guards, sporting a few bruises himself._

_It's only when Varian begins choking, spluttering as the blood, possible vomit (though there was nothing left in his stomach), and tears bubbling up in his throat begin to overwhelm him, that the guard eases up the consecutive punches and digs his fingers into the boy's hair, forcing his head close, glaring into his eyes with an almost demented fury. "Look at me now and tell me. Are you still too good for the food here? Do you like the taste of your blood, your filth better? Do you have the right to whine and complain, cry away as though you've been so wronged?" He turns Varian's head to stare down at the broken shards of his bowl. "Do you still think you deserve better, you treasonous brat?”_

_Varian's numb, glazed eyes stare back at the ruined food on the dirty floor, breathing heavily, limp and practically dangling in the man's unyielding grasp. When he doesn't answer, the guard lifts him away from the wall, off the ground...and slams him down, face-first, into the ground._

_Having been held back by the guards, Andrew calls out in concern and shock, but Varian's figure is still, limp as it is sprawled motionlessly, the only sign that he is alive being the sharp shudders and heaves quaking his back, and the empty clasping of his fingers as he clutches at something subconsciously...clutches at empty space, his fist curled against the ground, his mop of hair covering his head and face._

_The guard looks down at the boy, satisfied with his work, calmly pressing his foot down on the small of Varian's back. The boy doesn't move or squirm in response. "I want you to remember this moment, the next you even dare to think you will ever deserve anything more than a life like this, and food like this, and a friend like that." He gestures to Andrew, sneering in contempt and disgust. "You are a miserable, miserable wretch who doesn't have anything else or anyone else. You're gonna die alone, with just this, and your mistakes. Only then are you allowed to cry. Only then can you think you'll ever truly be beyond these bars...beyond this life.”_

_Andrew scrambles over to the boy, hovering over him hesitantly before carefully turning his face to ascertain whether he was conscious. Varian's eyes are half-lidded, but open nevertheless...he is quiet, breathing softly and shuddering every once in a while but otherwise lost in his own world. The man heaves a sigh of relief, pressing his hands against his face as the rest of the guards leave before trying to examine the damage done._

_"What have you gotten yourself into now, junge-" The man softly tuts in uncharacteristically growing concern, without any of his usual stern edge as he carefully presses his palms into the sides of the boy's shoulders and tries to support him into sitting up or at least rolling onto his back._

_Andrew finally quietly helps the boy into a seated position, and the boy leans on him just as quietly, eyes staring into space as the man tries to examine his face. "Broken nose. Maybe shattered cheekbones. That wicked black eye just might last. Think your jaw is fine, though." Andrew notes, trying to seem as nonchalant and ...not freak-out-prone as he felt. It was strange to actually...care this way. It was strange to watch someone be actively hurt and...care about them enough to not want for them to be hurt. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced in his relatively short career as a foreign terrorist who mostly schemed and stole and snuck underneath people's noses-he personally was not one for direct, hands-on violence and much less watching it get inflicted so sadistically and readily on people who couldn't defend themselves._

_Andrew then tries lifting Varian up, wrapping one of the boy's limp arms around the back of his neck and hauling him so he could quickly get him seated on his prison cot. "God, you need to eat more, buddy. What will your next cellmate think, when he tries lifting your half-conscious body after a beating?" Andrew mutters under his breath, carefully picking up his own spared, half-finished bowl of broth and placing it to the side as he sighs deeply and, after some hesitation, worriedly tears off a small piece of cloth from his pant leg before dipping it in the remaining cup of water they had had before the meal and dabbing carefully at Varian's nose._

_Varian's eyes flicker then, snapping towards him, filled to the brim with tears and dread. "Next cellmate?" He echoes quietly._

_"Yes. But then again, maybe your next cellmate might be able to better help you contain that smart mouth...and throw in a few more punches at those assholes. I'm a little rusty." Andrew nods, frowning when he gets to Varian's black eye. "That will require ice...that we do not have. Sorry buddy."_

_"What do you mean by next cellmate?" Varian whispers hoarsely, his voice barely above a quiet croak as the man finishes cleaning off the blood from his face._

_Andrew shrugs, too caught up in the conversation to take caution with his words. "Well... I'm not_

_going to be your cellmate forever. I am a high-profile terrorist from an enemy kingdom who committed treason. I won't be lasting very long. I'll either be executed soon, or escape with my pals…"_

_Varian's breath hitches, and his cheeks are stained with tears yet again. "No...no, I don't want another cellmate. I don't want you to go. Please don't go, Andrew. Don't leave me here." He sobs openly, still traumatized from the ordeal and shaking as he clasps his hands to his face in self-loathing and reprehension._

_Andrew stares and frowns in thought, unable to contain the smallest twinges of sympathy as he carefully removes the rag he had been using and sits beside the boy. "Hubert." He finally says, and Varian blinks, looking up at him as best as he could with his black eyes._

_"Hubert?"_

_"It's...my real name. Andrew is my coded name." Andrew admits. "Only my closest friends call me Hubert."_

_Varian's eyes well with bright tears. "I still miss Ruddiger." He begins._

_"I know.""_

_"But..." Varian pauses in thought, looking up at him. "After him...you're my friend too, aren't you? The guard said so. You said so." Varian prods insistently as though desperately hoping Andrew would confirm it._

_Andrew looks at the boy, who had been cheated and cast aside like so many he himself knew...like himself. The boy who, at a tender age, had accomplished so much and was capable of greater things, stuck down here to rot like him and so many others._

_A boy who...for all his practical and utilitarian uses...could maybe start anew in Andrew's group of Separatists. After all...Varian looked up to him. And...what kind of person would he be if he let such a useful and_ _needy_ _kid alone like that? He guessed...if Varian so desperately wanted it...Varian could be a part of the Saporians too. The boy was loyal, probably would never question him or be able to fight back...and he was intelligent in his own right, adamant when he wanted to be._

_Was Varian really his friend? Or someone he was using to feel better about himself-for a potentially lost cause and lost self? Did he actually care for Varian beyond the weird, fleeting moment of sympathy he had felt and the small moments of disagreement or disgust they had shared, or the fact that with Varian...his Saporians could not only get out of this hellhole but actually come closer to their dream of conquering and diminishing Corona than ever before?_

_"...We're all each other has, Varian." Andrew insists, wrapping an arm around him and looking him squarely in the eye. The boy fixes on him, as though entranced, latching onto his words. "Well, I have a few other separatists, but not quite. They're separated, far away...lost as I am. But you and I...We understand what the other is going through. Only we can actually, really help each other. And that means...we need to look out for each other, right? Because if we don't stick together or look after the other, who else will?" At Andrew's not-really-forced smile, Varian nods slowly, visibly seeming lighter, less stressed. "Now...before we do anything else...let's set that nose of yours straight.”_

_At Varian's reluctance, Andrew outretches his arms, grinning. "Come on! You know I've done it to Poquito Juan Pablo-“_

_Varian blinks at him cluelessly. “Who?"_

_Andrew pretends to look offended. "The lonely orphan mountain sheep I rescued from a pack of ravenous wolves? The one where I was all 'I gave him a home, he gave me warmth?'" Andrew feigns irritation, putting his hand on his hips. "You know, if you actually had your head out of your ass, you'd pay attention and stay out of trouble, Varian.”_

_Varian allows a half-hearted smile and weak chuckle to escape, before wincing at what the strain does to his injured face._

_Andrew smiles when Varian laughs, not remembering the last time he had been able to make a remark or tell a joke and have anyone...really..naturally respond without him glaring at them threateningly and coaxing a forced, empty chuckle. He carefully presses his palms against Varian's cheeks and positions his thumbs near the nose. "Okay...I want you to count to three, okay?" He says, and Varian stiffens, hesitating before nodding._

_"Is it going to hurt?" Varian asks with dread._

_Andrew looks at him once, pretending to be focused on his nose. He pointedly ignores the question. "Waiting for your count, Varian."_

_Varian intakes a shuddering breath. "One..."_

_Andrew instantly snaps the nose back in place, a small and sharp crack resounding as Varian cries out and gasps at the sudden pain. The boy turns to him, glaring, the center of his face deeply pink._

_"You said we'd do it on three!"_

_"No, I said you should count to three." Andrew replies matter-of-factly, still observing the boy with some concern. “Poquito never complained so much.”_

_Varian huffs indignantly.“Poquito was a sheep.”_

_“Poquito was my friend.” Andrew corrects seriously, raising his brow and waving his finger condescendingly in Varian’s direction._

_Varian scowls but gives Andrew a grateful nod, sniffing and rubbing at the blood from his nose with his sleeve, avoiding looking at it. "Still...you didn't need to make me think that we would..."_

_"It's good that I did. " Andrew insists, flexing his fingers before taking off his hairtie. "You were too nervous waiting for the pain to happen. So you barely noticed in your frenzy when I got it done without warning. Kid, the more you expect and wait for pain, the worse you'll actually feel about it...until you chicken out and just drop doing the thing that might cause you pain, even when necessary. A lot of the necessary things in life are painful, and cause pain in more ways than one...and if you keep acting like the only types of pain you can bear are the ones you explicitly prepare for, you'll never really grow into all the pains meant to help you bear the wound that is life."_

_Varian quietly, attentively listens, watching the man fumble with the tie and place it around his wrist. "...You think life is a wound?"_

_Andrew frowns, retracing his steps. "I think...life...or more particularly, our individual, human lives.... are growing pains to a greater purpose...but when they fail, they become wounds._ **_We_ ** _become the wounds. And until we can find a wayto scramble back up and finish doing all that we were meant to do, we remain wounds. Burdens...to the people who actually care about us and want us to suceed, and the causes that depend on us too." Andrew recites by memory, raising his finger as he looks out the window, unfocused. "The only way to heal a wound is to seal it, and the only way to seal away a part of yourself is to actively do something to counteract or straighten it. You don't always have the means to do that, so instead you go around hoping other things will fix you, fill this gaping spot where your flesh and skin is supposed to be...and you end up making it hurt worse." Andrew frowns, forgetting how this conversation started._

_"Maybe...maybe we're not wounds, though. Maybe there's no one out there hoping for or depending on us to get better." Varian hopefully supplies in thought. "Maybe...we are just alone after all._

_Andrew frowns, shaking his head. "No, no...there's always something that needs us to keep going. The future, for one. If everything sucks and nothing makes sense...well, then tomorrow can't be any worse, because we don't know it yet, right? And even if that thing..." Andrew clenches his jaw, tightening his fists subconsciously as he recalls the stories he had been fed since childhood about how glorious Saporia was before it shriveled up and wilted away into history, dwarfed by Corona's supposed hypocrisy and the world's ignorance. "Even if that...future...seems like some silly dream, or unattainable vision...it's real because it gives us a reason to believe we're not alone. Because we're not. There will always be someone who understands you, and someone who hates you, and someone who would die for you, and someone who would try to kill you if given the chance. There will always be people to remind you of what a piece of shit you are, and people trying to tell you you're not. There will always be someone...or something...other than yourself. Bigger than yourself. You're nobody otherwise, Varian. Never forget that. Saying that we're alone and nothing we do individually, at our lowest, matters is bullshit. We can never be alone. We can never be free. And yet we can never be hopeless either. That's our curse to carry, our cross to bear.”_

_Andrew's voice lowers into a hiss, and his eyes cross, narrowing into a space outside as Varian cautiously watches form the corner, slightly unsettled. “Never be so stupid as to try and think that you will ever be truly free, Varian, and that you're...alone. You're not. And you should remind yourself you're not. Even if it means creating and clinging to an entire vision of yourself and your future. Never let anyone tell you how stupid you are for believing in it...and never be so stupid as to let someone make it for you." Andrew wishes he had seen the hypocrisy, the unintended effect of his own words before it had been too late._

_“But…I’m not…a burden to you, am I?”Varian approaches cautiously, still slumped at his bed._

_Andrew pauses, before allowing a small smile and turning towards Varian, hoping the boy does’t notice or misunderstand the doubt and fear in his eyes. “Of course not.”_

_They lapse into a comfortable silence, quiet and pondering, before Andrew’s eyes narrow, properly turning to face Varian as he scrutinizes the boy._

_“You know what your problem is?”_

_At Varian’s shocked face, Andrew backtracks, holding up his hands as though to calm the boy. “I don’t mean that…there’s something explicitly wrong with you…but I mean…do you know why you’re getting the worst of the worst? Why people like ignoring you until you make yourself out to be scary and beating on you specifically?”_

_Varian blinks at him, quietly looking at his lap. “I…um, I kind of assumed that was just how people are.”_

_Andrew shrugs. ”Partially. But also, because you’re a literal child.”  
_

_At that, Varian’s eyes narrow-not in anger at Andrew, but in thought of what he was saying, thinking to himself. “Yeah, I guess…”_

_”No. You don’t understand what I’m saying. I mean…you seem small and unthreatening and it’ll take time for you to grow up enough to be as nearly tall as I am. But…you shouldn’t look so small. You shouldn’t feel so small. You’re smarter and more mature than nearly every adult I’ve ever been with-well, besides myself of course." Andrew pretends to look proud, putting a hand on his chest. "But because people see you as largely defenseless, they taunt you, take advantage of you when convenient. You wanna be a man? You gotta look like one...act like one...earn your respect like one.”_

_Varian squints, looking at him quietly. “S-so…?”_

_Andrew gets up, pulling out a black marker from under his pillow and his hair tie, waving his hands exuberantly. “So? To hell with that! Screw what people think and how they expect kids to be or act! Screw the ‘natural process’ and shit when your body doesn’t age up with your mind! If you’re gonna be punished like an adult, you ought to feel and be respected like one, right?”  
_

_Varian’s eyes narrow. “What…do you have in mind?”_

_Andrew grins, pulling his hair tie and coming closer. “Your hair is too big and makes the rest of your face look too small. Plus, I bet it gets in the way sometimes, right? How about I take care of that?”_

_Varian squints, a small smile beginning to crawl up in response. "You...you think you can make me age faster?"_

_Andrew scoffs. "Not exactly, but I'll do my best. I helped Poquito, I can help you." He looks around, before shrugging. "We don't really have a knife or shiv to use, but I guess I can use my hairtie. Maybe I should start at the front? You don't have much on the back and the top of your head looks almost square anyways." Varian rolls his eyes, weakly smiling despite the strain it brought to his injured face. Andrew squints before leaning down and using his hands as a frame before trying to tie Varian's hair. The boy chuckles to himself as the man moves his hair this way and that in slight frustration and curiosity, tying it one way and stepping back to check on him before shaking his head and trying something else. In the end, Andrew huffs, rolling his eyes and snapping the hair tie away as Varian frowns at his expression, bangs still clinging to his face and dishevelled over his eyes. "It's no use. I don't know how it's possible, but you somehow retain the face of a lamb regardless of how much lesser hair you seem to have. Sorry, kiddo.”_

_Varian deflates in disappointment, running his hands over his face. "Even my hair is wrong." He complains._

_Andrew shrugs. "It's not...wrong. It's just...not as fabulous as mine. That's okay. You're not as fabulous as me, so it checks out. At least you're consistent.”_

_Varian nods half-heartedly, looking back at Andrew's hair tie with a distant look of contemplation stricken on his face before his eyes narrow and he squints at Andrew's face again._

_"Hey..." Varian begins, before outstretching his arm and gesturing for Andrew to give him the marker._

_Andrew's eyes narrow in protest. "No. We agreed that I'd get to startthe tic-tac-toe game this time. Getting yourself beat up doesn't give you second chances, kid."_

_"No! Not that, just-" Much to Andrew's surprise, Varian gets up, wobbling as he plucks the marker from Andrew's hand and totters towards the mirror._

_Andrew watches curiously as Varian eyes himself in the mirror with contempt and then curiosity, as though seeing his reflection for the first time, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes at the bruises and dried remnants of blood on his face, before sucking in a sharp breath, steeling himself from fainting at the sight of bloodand carefully pressing the tip of the marker against the center of his chin._

_"That-that is not-no." Andrew immediately says, but Varian is already applying the second line, and then the third, vertical and next to each other as they make a neat 'barcode-like' series of marks at the bottom of his chin, as though he actually does have facial hair. The boy giggles to himself, despite how gruesome it might look on his injured face. "I've always wanted to do this, truth be told."_

_"...If you wanted facial hair, you could have just told me." Andrew remarks._

_Varian shrugs, eyes still fixed on himself. "I wanted to do this myself. That's...what growing up is all about, yeah?"_

_Unable to help the twinge of simultaneous fondness and irritation he feels, Andrew rolls his eyes."Kid, I know this is probably one of those things you teenagers like to do when you want to act like no one understands you and that idiotically doing the exact opposite of sensible is somehow empowering but-”_

_"But what?" Varian asks then, eyes sharpened in the instant with an equal, boisterous irritation Andrew doesn't remember him possessing ever since he was thrown in here. The boy glares at his reflection in the mirror, fingers visibly tightening around the marker as though he feared Andrew would make him give it up, still refusing to turn around and meet the man's eyes. "You said I needed to look grown up. I am growing up. And growing up means doing whatever I want and not caring for what other grown-ups tell me so...shut up and screw yourself." He finishes off half-heartedly, evidently unwilling to say the last part but plucking up the courage just for the sake of it._

_Andrew raises his eyebrows, and Varian's confident facade drops instantly, fearful that he might have upset Andrew or elicited an adverse response. However, much to the boy's surprise, Andrew bursts out into a loud cackle, drawing irritated looks from the other prisoners across their cell, slapping his knee. "Hell yeah! That's what I'm talkin' about! There might be hope for you after all!" His smile slips then, and he leans forward, clapping a heavy hand on the bewildered boy's shoulder and quietly saying- "But a little less snark around me is kind of owed. I did help you be this way, after all."_

_"...Sorry?" Varian apologizes questioningly._

_"It's not okay. Go screw yourself." Andrew replies, smiling widely as he leans back in his own prison cot and crosses his legs, cackling loudly. Varian looks at him with nervousness and concern, possibly thinking he'd lost it and still confused over how to react._

_“…Hubert? What does that...actually mean?" Varian asks._

_Andrew's eyes widen, laugh dying in his throat. "Aw, man! Don't kill the fun now, Varian! How could you say something without knowing what it means?"_

_Varian shrugs, anxiously clutching at his opposing arm and rubbing it as he usually did when he wanted to be consoled. "I'm sorry...I just heard a few kids back in my village say it to me once or twice when I tried talking to them, and the way they looked at me made me feel bad. I thought it meant like...'go back where you came from' or somethin'...And I was too embarrassed to ask Dad."_

_Andrew's eyes narrow. "Well, it most certainly does not mean...that, although I guess that could be an implication....but there's no fun in explaining it to you. Besides, I don't want to traumatize you more than your precious 'friends' have." At that, Varianshrinks, looking down. Andrew observes him, eyes softening as he sighs. "But...it was a good start, Varian. You did good for your first try. I'm proud of ya." At that, Varian's face changes-his eyes visibly light up when they flit up to him in startlement and disbelief, the tightness in his face drifting away as the boy shows a small yet genuine smile despite his wince after doing so._

_"One problem though..." Andrew begins, and Varian's eyes flicker with doubt, the smile in them fading in dread. "Didn't the princess' boyfriend have the same thing?"_

_Varian's eyes widen and he visibly stiffens, shoulder straight and lips tight, indignant as they with hold a twitch of contempt and remorse. "Y-yeah, so? I wear it better. I actually made my own...thing."_

_"I believe it's called a 'goattee' here, though personally I find it offensive to goats. Especially considering I've seen goats with better facial hair." Andrew shudders, scowling deeply. "You Coronans and your sick obsession with putting down animals. Is there no limit? Centering around your derogatory language around nature..." He throws his head back, yelling at the ceiling at the top of his lungs and pumping his fists knowing that the earlier guards had changed their shift and wouldn't be bothering them come evening. "IS THERE NO ESCAPE!?” At Varian's pause of concern, Andrew shrugs off the outburst, lowering his voice and nodding. "Go ahead, Varian. Continue.”_

_Varian tries to seem largely unfazed, squaring his thin shoulders in an attempt to make himself look broad and perhaps...taller than he actually was, puffing out his chest and jutting his chin. "I look...more mature than he does. I probably am more mature than he is." Placing his arms on his hips and wobbling slightly, Varian pouts, trying to put on his sternest look. "Screw you, Flynn Rider! And Eugene, too!" Chuckling to himself at the newfound euphoria those very words seemed to imbue and intoxicate him with, Varian laughs out loud, kicking out his foot and raising his arms, yelling as Andrew had. "SCREW YOU, FITZHERBJERK!"_

_Andrew nods to that, humming in agreement. He raises his clenched hand, as though imagining himself to hold a toast, raise a wine glass in cheer. Now that he thought about it...he seemed to be drifting off more and more. Withering and whittling away small pieces of himself in imagination and memories and speeches of grandeur, wasting away with the inconsequential as his divine purpose churned on and possibly wilted into the fade and failures of history without him. Andrew scrunches his brow in thought, and Varian notices his change of expression, confident demeanour dwindling yet again._

_"What's wrong? What did I do?" Varian asks cautiously, upset._

_Andrew notices his fear and waves a hand dismissively. "Don't sweat it. I'm just tired. You're so draining to deal with sometimes, you know that?” He didn't know why he said it...but it felt good saying it. It felt good, knowing that he could slip back and forth, in and out of what felt comfortable of his normal self, and Varian would just have to deal with it...and he wouldn't lose anything in the process. The boy was smart. The boy was learning....the boy was learning from him, and the realization is unsettling, unwanted, and yet...holds so much potential._

_Varian's face begins to fall. "I'm sorry. Please don't be mad at me, Hubert."_

_But Andrew forces a smile, lying down in his prison cot. "Don't be sorry. Sorry doesn't fix anything. Do you think, if I could say sorry, I would get out of here, and everything would go back to normal?"_

_Varian quietly watches him, a bit relieved that the man wasn't directly angry at him, mimicking the man and lying down in his own prison cot. "I don't know. Do...do you think something like that could ever happen to me?”_

_Andrew scoffs, cackling out loud without restraint even as the emptiness in his gut grows. "You're not an idiot, Varian. Don't act like one."_

_Varian quietens at that, before pressing on. "Well...hypothetically speaking...if any of us were to get out of this prison..."_

_"By force and trickery, you mean? Because that's the only way you get out of here alive." Andrew clarifies, in case Varian needed a reminder._

_"...Right." Varian assures, continuing. "Do you think...I don't know...we'd be able to somehow bring things back to normal? When we're free? Or even not normal...even better than how our lives used to be before all the shit that landed us in prison?"_

_Andrew lifts his head and raises his brow, noticing this was the first time Varian had properly used the word so casually without hesitance. The boy was learning. "I think...to avoid repeating the same shit over and over again, we'd have to change some…_ **_variables_ ** _."_

_Varian laughs to himself. "You're learning my language." He remarks fondly, not knowing the irony of it just yet._

_Andrew scoffs. "On the other hand...maybe...we might never truly be free of this prison. Maybe...we've forgotten how it's like to live normally, outside...like an animal that's been caged and beaten into domestication for too long, letting us back in the wild could hurt us. Even...kill us. Because that is what cages and countries do to the commonfolk. Prison, conformity, confinement... it's meant to slowly yet surely kill the soul, make it compliant and docile when it became temperate and untame. If we don't die in it, or from it...we die from being unable to live without it." Andrew recites, not seeing the quiet glance Varian gave him. The man frowns yet again-maybe he really was losing it._

_"Is that what happened...to Poquito?" Varian ventures hesitantly. "Is he..."_

_"No." Andrew answers instantly, sensing Varian's discomfort and mildly surprised the boy had remembered the name after all. Poquito wasn't real...but Varian didn't need to know that. Poquito had been a figment of Andrew's ever-bustling, ever-changing imagination, another fragment in the delicately weaved web of lies he used to make himself seem larger than life, kinder than he was, magnanimous and intelligent and compassionate and...everything he actually wasn't. It had been to impress Cassandra, sway the staff and soft-minded citizenry of Corona, eloquently pitch to his fellow spies...but it wasn't real. None of this mattered. "Poquito...stayed with me. Even as I tried to let him go, convince him to go back into the wild...he couldn't trust himself. Didn't want to risk being torn down and nearly consumed all over again. He knew I could protect him, give him a home and a feeling of security. Poquito stayed with me, and he lived long, free, satisfied." Andrew drones on listlessly, staring up and not seeing Varian's eyes intensely fixed on his face, his neck craned to listen to him intently. "Poquito stayed where he knew he belonged, and so he was never in a prison to begin with.”_

"Andrew? Andrew?" Quirin's voice jolts the man back into the present, back into reality. Andrew blinks a few times, recollecting himself slowly and groggily as he catches sight of Quirin sitting there looking back at him, concerned. Varian is still fast asleep, head close to Quirin's leg, and the man's hand positioned on the boy's head this time. When had that happened?

"What-don't call me that. You don't get to call me anything." Andrew replies snappishly, resorting to his usual self as he huffs and tries to compose himself, keeping his eyes away from the hairtie.

Quirin frowns. "Well, what should I call you? I'm not going to call you _Hubert_ -Varian said only your close friends call you that, and I am neither close nor a friend."

Andrew looks away, scowling deeply as he leans back and makes to fall asleep, ignoring the twinge of nostalgia and pain he feels in his chest, the familiar emptiness and doubt returning. "Fine. Just call me what everyone else does.”

"Which is?”

"Screw-yourself-dumb-shit." Andrew readily replies, bracing his hands behind his head. "Some people add a mister before that, but you can always put in a 'your honor' or even 'his royal travesty.' If you like. It's no longer my job telling other people what to do and how to do it.”

Quirin sighs at the failed attempt. "Well...if you can't provide me with anything, I might as well lapse with you in another uncomfortable silence." After a moment of that, however, Quirin deflates yet again, sighing again in that self-pitying, exhausted way that irritated Andrew to no end.

"What the actual hell?" Andrew exclaims impatiently, kicking his feet up. "What else do you need to know?”

Quirin's eyes narrow in contempt. "Just...why you?"

"... _Excuse me_?" Andrew retorts, not meaning to come across as offended as he did.

"I mean...why you, and why now, and why this?" Quirin presses, raising his voice and gesturing to them before looking worriedly down at Varian. "Why is he so attached to you now, and insisting on being with you, when he's well out of prison and should be grateful that he is? Why doesn't he see you for what you are and take the help we offer and...try to leave this part of him behind?"

Andrew huffs, jolting to his feet with unprecedented anger and indignity. "Uhum...because I did for him in one year what none of you-least of all you- could ever do for him in his entire life?" Andrew grinds out, startling the man and disheartening him but pressing on with the compulsive, scathing remarks. "Because I cared for him a _little_ bit, which was heaps more than anyone did at the time? Because you pushed him away when he tried being with you and then you died and left him clueless, to suffer on his own like the asshole you are? Because you pedaled the responsibility for him to everyone but yourself and made him bear it all alone but then waltzed back into his life acting like you could do better? Did any of that cross your mind, _'oh father of Varian?_ '" Andrew mocks in contempt.

Quirin stares back at him, wide-eyed and befuddled, before they narrow in derision, trying their best to mask the disheartenment and realization behind them. "And _you_ were somehow a better alternative? So much so that he won't even bother trying to get along with or get help from his new friends-better friends, who actually care for him, listen to him, are apologetic for what they did to him and are trying to show him that they want to help?"

"Old man, I was his _only_ alternative. None of his so-called friends were there to be a better alternative at the time. They left him alone to the king for further punishment and the king decided to kick him in here with me. And if they're trying to be now, congratulations! They've probably changed! But Varian hasn't. Varian can't so easily. The damage has already been done." Andrew sneers.

Quirin's fists clench, shaking slightly. "Varian isn't damaged.”

Andrew whistles in mocking jeer., unable to help the bitter contempt welling up inside of him "Yes, he is. He can mend parts of himself, try to grow past this but there is no way you can reverse or erase the mark this has made on his head and heart, especially in the near future. Hell, I haven't been able to do it, and I'm a rich 24-year-old with connections!" Andrew yells, and Quirin's eyes narrow suspiciously. "Well...before I got thrown in again-but! I _am_ actually rich. And I _do_ still have friends besides that brat." Andrew spouts in defense, waving his finger and ignoring the self-conscious twinge of guilt sprouting in his chest.

Quirin scowls as deeply as he does, pressing his forefingers at his nose. "Don't...skirt around my question.” He hisses through grit teeth, at the end of his tether. "What did you say to Varian? To twist him around your finger like that? What did you threaten to do to him if he did let you go? What's your master plan here?"

Andrew blains back at him, the reproach and indignant only growing as a spike of irritation flares through his chest. “Nothing! Not…everything going on with Varian is some brilliant machination of mine, however much I would _love_ that credit!" Andrew spouts in disdain. "A lot of life isn't! A lot of the shit in life happens because we're all just...desperate, hungry, lonely, purposeless _losers_ trying to hate ourselves less and think we're bigger than we actually are! Losers who are unwilling to change but willing to learn! And some of us, not even willing to learn!" He spits in Quirin's direction.

Quirin's brows relax slightly, but his lips remain tightly twisted, frozen. "Why-why would you teach him that, then?" He asks, quieter now. Andrew looks at him in growing dread, looking away. Quirin presses on. "Why would you teach Varian to think like that, then?"

Andrew crosses his arms, violently stomping down the familiar wave of self-loathing and confusion that could very well consume him, bitterly quipping. "I didn't _teach_ him anything. He learned, as everyone does. Life doesn't teach shit, but we learn to take it, learn to map and expect and become it,and be as cruel, unpredictable, shifty and damaged as it. That's all Varian learned. That's more he learned than you could ever teach him...and he won't be unlearning or relearning anything anytime soon.”

Quirin's face falls, breath faltering, and he sits back down on the cot quietly. Andrew follows suit with his own cot, breathing heavily from the outburst, eyes wide and fixed on a spot in space as his whirring mind reels from the blow of his own words, never having thought himself capable of expressing that.

"So...there's nothing I can do." Quirin speaks quietly.

Andrew scoffs emptily. "Well, you can, actually. You can get the hell out of my cell and take the brat with you." He can't deal with this anymore. The constant memories, the nostalgia, the bitterness, the remorse, the _pain_ -

"But-"

"I don't care if he cries! Why do you? If you know anything about being a parent at all, it's normal for kids to cry! That's how kids learn! Being in pain and watching everyone either ignore or misread or fail to ease your pain is exactly how everyone learns! Just leave him to cry for a few days and he'll tire himself out and learn whatever you'll give him! He'll be desperate for more companionship but so long as you deny him mine and actually give him the friends or time he deserves, maybe he can grow a bit past this. But for the love of all that is holy, don't come trekking back here with your god-forsaken brat and his tantrums." Andrew readily, vehemently lists, swallowing away the reluctance and guilt.

"...I don't think that's true." Quirin says quietly, and Andrew groans, slumping his head against his knees and scratching at his wrists impatiently. "I don't think...giving him more pain and continuing to treat him like I used to is going to change anything. Like you said...I guess I still have much to learn about my son and what he actually went through before trying to...change how he thinks, teach or help him unlearn/relearn anything." Quirin silently admits, clasping his hands tightly together in anxiety, self-contempt, and thought.

Andrew doesn't move to Quirin giving him credit for the thought nor realization, still unmoving and thinking deeply to himself. Maybe, if he breathes heavily enough, he'll feel better. Maybe he'll feel light-headed enough to forget, simply drop out of this emotional rollercoaster of a conversation completely.

Quirin continues cautiously. "I suppose...I haven't been very fair. In my treatment of Varian and his...condition now. Nor my interpretation of it. And...of you.”

Andrew narrows his eyes, squinting in the dim light and scowling deeply. "I...didn't ask for any of your pity."

"I'm not pitying you." Quirin answers in defense.

"There's no sob story here." Andrew presses on. "No ulterior motive, no tragic background or incentive for me to kiss up to the princess. I'm going to be in here forever, be like this forever. There's nothing you can do to make me look less reprehensible than I actually am. There's no other excuse for what I did, and there's nothing I can do to change...not yet." He leans his head against his arm, closing his eyes and wincing as though his very next words gave him a headache. "I am a toxic, dangerous....ugly person for your son to be around. Please..just...take him away so he can start getting better. I'm drowning, always have been-and he tried to get me to teach him how to swim." He sniffs drily, scoffing and frowning at the unprecedented wave of emotion that befalls him. "Take him away so I don't drag him down with me.”

Quirin looks at him quietly, before carefully resting his hand on Varian's back again. The boy doesn't move beyond his soft calm breaths.

"I'm sorry." Quirin offers. Andrew pauses before responding.

"...I'm sorry for Varian. I'm not sorry for you." Andrew begrudgingly clarifies.

Quirin nods chuckling emptily, defeatedly to himself.

Andrew pauses, before coming up to Varian quietly, seating himself as Quirin carefully makes room watching them both for a different reason now.

"Junge?" Andrew carefully threads his fingers along Varian's hair, feeling a strange and familiar, instinctive sense of calm awash him as the boy's eyes twitch before opening slowly, half-heartedly, blinking back at him groggily.

"You came back." Varian observes, giving him a sleepy smile. "You done with your break?”

Andrew frowns slightly at first, still responding with a small and reassuring smile as he chuckles emptily. "I'm afraid I have to stay on this break for longer. You need a break from me, junge."

Varian frowns at the insinuation, eyes glistening. "Where are you going?" He asks groggily, not at all noticing his father right there, voice wavering as though afraid of the answer.

"I'm not going anywhere. But you...you are. You're going someplace better." Andrew softly replies, brushing away the boy's bangs from his eyes.

Varian mumbles something under his breath, reaching out and holding onto Andrew's hand tightly. "Don't wanna go anywhere without you..."

"You're going to have to. That's the only way you'll get to go at all."

"What about Poquito?" Varian presses, lifting his head and looking at him with slowly growing awareness, slowly growing realization...slowly growing dread. "What if I have to come back? What if the only way I'm safe and happy is...if I'm here? With you? Like we used to be...like always?”

"You weren't happy here." Andrew replies quietly. "No one ever is." He takes in a sharp breath. He could tell Varian that Poquito wasn't real...that Poquito was yet another one of the many examples of how untrustworthy and narcissistic and fantasy-driven Andrew was capable of being...or he could just tell Varian that Poquito didn't do all that he had said he did. That Poquito had moved on. The boy would readily go then...believing he was holding true to Andrew's lessons and dreams. That he was doing this because Andrew wanted it. That he was too broken to accept the truth. But did Andrew want that now? And did Varian...need that now?

"Varian...Poquito isn't real." Andrew finally admits, looking down at the boy. The boy sharply sucks in a breath, eyes fixed on him in befuddlement.

"But...your fur vest...you said..."

"I got it from a farmer's market. Not the cheap ones your dad goes to for your spring shopping. Cool ones, withpumpkins and everything." Andrew replies.

Varian blinks, before giving a toothy grin. "Ours have pumpkins too." He supplies sleepily.

Andrew stares, expecting the boy to be angry. "Varian...I just told you Poquito is a lie."

Varian nods, smiling at him nevertheless. He squeezes his hand. ”I know. That's okay."

"No, it's not okay." Andrew insists then, and Varian's smile fades. "Poquito wasn't real. Almost... _nothing_ we had was real. I lied about Poquito. I'm a liar.”

Varian's lip trembles then, and his eyes glaze over, staring back at him quietly as Andrew says that. "... _Almost nothing_?" Varian echoes, before chuckling to himself, eager not to let his unsettlement show. "But still...that means..we still had _something_ -"

"Varian." Andrew cuts off gently, before squeezing his hands within his own and saying sincerely. "I mean...of course I do care for what we had together. And it meant very much to me...probably as much as it did to you. But...I am not a savior, a saint who can protect you and teach you and...help you. In the way that you need. You have other ways...other people...a whole new life to do that with and for, to build on your own. And to do that you have to see that...I am not...the good person that you want to believe I am or think I can be." When Varian's eyes glisten in lieu of what he's about to say, Andrew sighs, before pulling the boy into a hug-something he didn't properly, often initiate in their time together since the arrest.

Varian clutches him tightly as he always did, as though he was a lifeline when he wasn't. The boy looks down, breath faltering and heaving as the realization slowly sinks in, staring into space as Andrew pulls away reluctantly. "P-Poquito isn't real." Varian whispers, trembling slightly with the fresh and gaping wound of the realization.

"No." Andrew admits, rubbing salt in his own wound as his heart wilts to see his trust and respect beginning to flicker and fade in Varian's eyes. "No, Poquito isn't real. He was never real. I never saved anyone. I never gave anyone a home. I never did anything useful for anyone...least of all myself.”

Varian's breath hitches, and the first sobs splinters out, faint and tremulous. "B-But if Poquito isn't real, then...then he never got to live happily ever after. If Poquito isn't real, he doesn't get to be with you and live long, satisfied and free."

Andrew looks at him sadly, stroking away his bangs. "Maybe not, but if Poquito isn't real...it means he can be anyone and anywhere you want him to be." He supplies quietly. "If Poquito was imaginary, and you imagined him to be with me...well, maybe you can now imagine him living elsewhere. Living long, free, happy, satisfied...without me.”

Varian's brow scrunch then, humming. "But...what if the world eats Poquito alive?"

"Well, if you don't want him to be eaten alive, he won't be. That's how imagination works, idiot." Andrew gently chides, smiling when Varian laughs softly to himself.

"...I can imagine Poquito being able to fend for himself, you know." Varian complies, still staring into space. Andrew rubs his back absent-mindedly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. But...Poquito would like being alone. Poquito doesn't need new friends. There aren't any wolves to protect him from. Just...shadows of them." Varian crafts wistfully, moving his hands as though envisioning the image right before him with the sluggish numbness of a dream-like rhythym, not quite awake and yet alert with an idea that will with hold him from the sleep of many more nights to come.

Andrew rests his chin atop the boy's head. "And you know how Poquito hates shadows." He plays along.

Varian and Andrew stay like that for a few more silent, peaceful moments, before Varian quietly speaks up again. "And...when Poquito grows up...and maybe has a few new friends...not because he needs them! But because...he likes new people...I mean sheep...." Varian corrects quickly as Andrew chuckles. "Does he come back? To visit?"

Andrew looks down at him in thought. "He can, if he likes." _But I don't know if he'll find what he's looking for when he returns._

Varian nods quietly, leaning on his shoulder as though trying to cherish the moment for however longer Andrew will allow.

"Thank you, Hubert." Varian whispers, turning and hugging him tightly, and Andrew hugs him one more time.

"Thank you, Varian. But before you go...I want you to promise me something.”

Varian looks up at him, stiffening at the word but attentive nevertheless as the man looks him in the eye. "I want you to promise me that Poquito doesn't come back to visit until he's gotten better. Until he's learned to defend himself, stand by himself. Until he's made a new life, new friends...and found a new purpose. Only then is Poquito allowed to visit. Until then...Poquito has to go where he belongs and try to see again.”

Varian's eyes fill with tears, understanding what he meant, and he nods quietly, still hugging the man as the man pats his head in an effort to seem calm...as though his heart wasn't hammering in his chest at the prospect of this possibly being his last time seeing Varian, holding Varian.

"I promise."

Andrew holds his breath, initiating what needed to be done. "Goodbye...Varian."

Varian looks up at him, withdrawing at long last. "G-Goodbye...Andrew." He says for the first time since Andrew had told him his real name.

Andrew quietly watches himself from the outside-watching himself drift away as he withdraws from Varian and the boy is rightfully embraced by his father, who sends the man a grateful, sympathetic gaze. Varian doesn't hug back, still stiffening-but he just does that. Stiffen and remain still.

"I will talk to the princess." Quirin promises out of Varian's earshot. "You won't be alone here for long. I want...I want her to know what you've done for us. For my boy."

Andrew shakes his head slowly, tiredly. "No one cares about what you want. Being nice to a kid once doesn't make me less of...whatever I've been for years, for Saporia and in Corona's eyes. Besides, who will be an asshole to the guards in my stead should I go? There’s no one who can do it like I can. I’m kind of valuable here." He says quietly, smirking. "Don't waste your breath. Take care of the kid. Listen to him. Talk to him. And please...for the love of all that is holy...do not think of bringing him back here to me again." He feels emptier just saying that. But don't stop him if he tries to come himself.

As Varian locks eyes with him for what could be the last time, Andrew grins and the boy smiles back. Quirin and Varian leave the cell, and Andrew narrows his eyes as they make their way down the hall before coming up behind the bars and calling out: "Hey. Varian?”

Varian turns around hopefully.

Andrew smiles. _“Screw you!”_

Varian and Quirin blink in shock, before Varian's face contorts, and he bursts into a small fit of laughter, watery and sorrowful. "Screw you too!" Varian cheerily calls back, and Andrew listens to his laugh until it vanishes- along with his image, voice, injuries, broken mind, memories-vanishes from sight, free from the dungeons for good.

Andrew scoffs and turns back to his shiv, trying to make the most of what was left of his fine night as he could.

**Author's Note:**

> "Junge" - German for "boy".
> 
> What I say: I'm fine
> 
> What I mean: S-so, Andrew's problems largely stemmed and were maintained by his devoted and unequivocal acceptance of a strict, nearly puritanical cult mentality that prioritized submission to higher forces or a perceived greater purpose over the individual, temporary and present. This is reflected in and further exacerbated by Andrew's inability to think past imagination, and his constant usage of imagination as a coping mechanism to the fact that the idea of New Saporia maybe be fundamentally unfounded, delusional optimism, or even a thing that might and can occur without him. He grows into toxic, narcissistic tendencies that subconciously come off as manipulation because he isn't given the proper tools or environment to cope with his own troubled background, less-than-stellar peers, self-loathing, delusion into believing his importance lies in a bigger purpose that seems unattainable and idealistic, and his refusal to focus on the present or try to change.
> 
> We see his inability to handle it when someone else steps up to the task and takes the control of the conversation or try to be his equal in anyway-he praises Varian for standing up to himself but insists that Varian doesn't get snarky with him specifically, and he constantly shows his disdain and bitterness for Quirin intruding his boundaries by entering the cell and initiating conversation. Andrew enjoys being in control and believing himself to be a savior-even if it means resorting to less natural tendencies, like caring for someone on a deeper-than-surface level. Andrew is aware of his own tendency to do that and therefore believes that his attachment/interactions with Varian wasn't anything but a product of that-which was actually wrong, but yet another example of how being self-aware isn't always what makes the deal when it comes to analyzing yourself and instituting personal change.
> 
> Poquito is another example of that. Andrew made up a whole story about being a savior to someone who couldn't help themselves, fashioning himself to be better than he actually is because he knows exactly who he is and hates it.
> 
> Andrew admits to Varian that Poquito was made up, when he could have used Varian's guillibility to his advantage and just manipulated the boy into thinking that Poquito had been real but simply had a different ending. If he had told Varian that, Varian would happily leave that cell believing that he was changing/doing this for Andrew and his lie. Andrew would have gotten the credit and Varian would have "moved on" as Quirin had initially wanted but not really. Andrew consciously tries to break the cycle of abuse and toxicity and manipulation by admitting to Varian that he lied about Poquito.
> 
> In addition, Andrew choosing to be honest with Varian and Quirin, and not looking for some benefit to himself, shows that Andrew's and Varian's relationship wasn't just an abusive relationship that needed to be let go, or that he necessarily needed to cut Andrew out of his life forever. On the contrary, the story does imply that Andrew is capable of change, but foremost he is looking at how Varian will turn out because he doesn't know how to change himself. He just does what he always did- project and partake in imaginative fantasies, give crude and real lectures about life, and push people along the way. But ultimately Andrew comes off sympathetic because he accepts the possibility of not being able to change if he continues thinking as he does-and the insistence that Varian stays away from him in this vulnerable state so that, whether Andrew himself changes or not, Varian is not caught in the crossfire or "damaged".
> 
> Andrew also treats Quirin's "pretend" with disdain-he thinks that Quirin isn't able to help Varian properly because he insists on making Varian forget/ignore what he actually went through in prison, rather than working through it or confronting his issues head on.
> 
> However, Andrew doesn't tell Varian to stop partaking in imagination-in fact, his admission to manipulation only allows Varian control of a tendency for imagination that he used to have. Only this time, Varian can use it as a healthy, arbitrary coping mechanism to push him forward, rather than a devout vision that demanded submission (much like Andrew's dreams did) and in turn caused regression.
> 
> Regardless of the ending we can think of Andrew having-whether he is even there when or if Varian chooses to visit years later- a part of Andrew lives on in Varian-not the parts that are capable of hurting or terrorizing people, or only seeing the worst in life/situations. But the ability to make the most of what he has...even if it means getting what Andrew himself never could.
> 
> Anyways, hopefully I'll be posting again either next week or the week after-no promises, but after this week's exams I'll probably have some time. :)


End file.
